


Kung Pao and Coming Out: A Recipe for an Awkward Holiday

by wolfgirl232



Series: New York City Heat [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Dom!John, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Sub!Dave, Super Smash Brothers - Freeform, Vriska makes everything uncomfortable, and it’s so cute, blanket fort, corsets, dom!Vriska, john is hopelessly in love, sub!bro, walked in on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfgirl232/pseuds/wolfgirl232
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave invites John to Bro's house for their traditional Chinese Thanksgiving, which goes less than smoothly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Texans and Torchics

It’s Thanksgiving break, and Dave has convinced you to come with him back to his Bro’s house in upstate New York. The enticing promise of Bro’s traditional Chinese food feast was just too intriguing to resist, and then there you are, tossing your duffle into the backseat of the rental Jeep Cherokee.

Dave walks towards the car and makes his way toward the passenger seat (because of course you’ll be driving), but you shake your head and beckon to him. He halts immediately and changes course, coming to stand in front of you.

“You’ll be sitting on this side.” You smile deviously.

He cocks his head to the side in confusion, shades flashing in the sunlight. “But I thought you wanted to drive.”

“Oh, I do.”

 

It takes a few minutes for him to get comfortable on the floor between your knees, but his lanky body folds in on itself quite easily, and soon he’s settled, resting one cheek on your thigh. You throw the blanket around his shoulders and pull the edge up to cover his head, the black fleece clinging to his hair. He peeks up at you from his blanket fort, red eyes blinking widely behind his shades. You pet his head and smile fondly. “Good boy.”

He shivers, his fingers straying to your belt and holding on as you start up the car, the engine roaring to life.

You are halfway to your necessary first pit stop at McDonald’s before the pressure in your jeans begins to become unbearable. Dave notices your slightly uncomfortable shifting, and you can feel his lips on you suddenly as he begins to mouth at you through the layers of taut fabric. He is absolutely radiating heat, and the pressure is painful now. You slip one hand beneath the blanket to undo the button and zipper, freeing yourself. You grasp your cock by the base and tap it against Dave’s lips, smirking as he whimpers and runs his tongue up your length eagerly.

“What a good little cockslut.” And that’s all the encouragement it takes for him to push you down into his throat.

He is still hungrily lapping at you as you pull into the drive-through, leaning out of your window to order your two kid’s meals.

“And can one of the toys be Torchic please?” You call into the tiny speaker, a garbled affirmation echoing back at you.

Dave starts, pausing in his ministrations and tossing the edge of the blanket back to stare up at you. He slides his glasses down his nose to let you fully appreciate his look of wonder as he asks, “You can ask for _specific toys_?”

“Uh, yeah? Of course dude! What have you been doing all these years? Waiting for the man to take pity on you and give you the one you wanted?”

“Um...yes?”

“Wow.” You pet his head and smile at him, the poor fool. “Now go back to sucking my dick.”

You finger-feed him his apple slices and chicken nuggets as you head out of the city, handing him his toy when he is finished. A muffled “yessss...” comes from beneath the blanket as he clutches it, slipping it into his sweatshirt pocket.

As soon as he’s done he returns to his task of pleasuring you, his tongue swirling over your head, your breath hitching.

About five miles out, heading north on the Interstate, you are startled by the large semi that pulls up beside you. Dave is bobbing his head up and down, the blanket moving along with him, and the driver of the truck glances over at you, his eyes flicking down between your legs. He smiles widely and gives you a thumbs-up. He probably assumes there’s a girl under there.

You just wiggle your eyebrows at the driver, smirking. He will never know how good you have it. Because no one but you will ever know the undying devotion of Dave Strider’s mouth, or that look he gives you when he’s on his knees, staring up at you like he could break apart at any moment. Or what he looks like when he’s asleep, finally at ease and curled safely inside your arms, your lips pressed to his forehead when you can’t stop breathing him in long enough to lose consciousness.

As the truck accelerates past you, you slide your hand in under the blanket to stroke his neck gently as you come into his mouth.

 

It’s dark now, and Dave is asleep with his head on your thigh, breathing softly. The lights of the other cars pass rhythmically, and you change lanes every so often to keep yourself amused.

Except _those_ lights aren’t passing you. Red flashes in your rearview and you swear loudly, waking Dave. “Hey, stay still, okay? And calm. I’m being pulled over by the police. Just...stay there and don’t move.” He nods stiffly and presses himself flat against the seat between your legs as you hike the edge of the blanket up around your waist. You switch off the heat and blast the air conditioning, hoping the car will cool down quickly. Because then you have a blanket alibi.

You pull off to the shoulder as soon as you can make it over, and thankfully by then the air in the car is already beginning to chill. You lean over and pop open the glove compartment, finding the registration under the manual. You can see the cop, approaching through your side-view mirror, and you switch off the air and procure your license. Everything is going to be fine. Oh god please be fine.

The cop is almost comically cowboy-like as he raps on your window with the knuckle of his middle finger, the other hand clasped around his belt buckle. You roll it down, and obediently hand over the “license and registration please” while simultaneously trying to swallow down your heart.

“Where you headed, son?” He twangs, handing you back the paper and your ID.

“My...brother’s. For Thanksgiving. We’re having Chinese.” Oh, yeah. Smooth.

His eyes flick downward and he nods toward your lap. What? What are you talking about? There’s nothing there... “What’s with the blanket, kid?”

“My heater is broken.” You splutter.

He eyes you cautiously, probably wondering at your choked answer. “Well so is yer tail light. Get that fixed soon, hear?”

“Yes Sir!” You nod vigorously and will Dave not to snicker.

“And that’s a nice car chu got yerself there! I had a red Cherokee myself! Changed her into a manual I did. Drove like a dream...” He thumps the door of your car affectionately before wishing you good night, striding back to his car.

When he’s driven off, you let out the breath it seems you’ve been holding for ten minutes. Dave starts laughing.

You lift the edge of the fleece and scowl at him. “Not funny!”

“But my people! A fellow Texan! And you were so scared. And you called him Sir. I just can’t. The irony is overwhelming. I bet he was even blonde.”

“Go back to sleep Dave!”

“And miss the next cop to pull you over in ten miles when you still have a dead tail light? Oh hell no. I bet that one will even be wearing shades.” He laughs again and you bat him over the head. This earns you a pout, and the only thing you can do to a pouting Strider is bend over awkwardly and snog the fuck out of him.


	2. Well Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave and John arrive at Bro's, and what follows is a very awkward morning.

 

You make it to your Bro’s apartment so late that it’s actually early, shouldering your bags and creaking, jaws clenched, up the rickety stairs to the fifth floor. Fumbling in the dark, you reach up and scrape your fingertips along the top ledge of the doorjamb, cringing as you almost send the key clattering to the floorboards.

You open the door just wide enough to slip inside, knowing the farther in it swings, the more likely any hellish creaking of the hinges. John slides in after you and you turn to push the door closed, slowly clicking the latch back into place. You don’t need your samurai swords to be a total fucking ninja.

“Why so sneaky, bro?”

Shit. You whirl around, and there he is, basking in the soft blue glow of his Lenovo, cross-legged on the couch. You feel John tense up beside you, freezing in place. You let your hand brush nonchalantly against his thigh. _I got this, just go with it._

“Thought maybe you’d be passed the fuck out by now.” You hook a thumb over your shoulder. “This here is John, my roommate. His parents bailed on Thanksgiving, booked it to the Virgin Islands. Asked if he could come experience the glory that is The Oriental Turkey.” That story sounded much more legit if his parents were both alive, you just hope John could go along with that.

“Sure,” Bro shrugs noncommittally, but his head turns to properly take the two of you in for just a moment longer than is comfortable. “Where’s he going to sleep?”

Uhh. “I’ll grab the air mattress.”

“Coolthanks.” John coughs out, following a step behind as you slink down the hall toward your old room.

 

You and John take turns pumping up the mattress, which pretty much takes up the entire floor of your room. You settle your backpack and his duffle in the corner while John throws the sheets and blanket over his bed, before getting in and rolling around a bit. “There. Now it looks slept in.” Reaching up, the pulls you down to him, and you crash as quietly as you can manage into his chest.

The two of you tussle momentarily, John’s hands pulling up your shirt, yours tangled into his hair, before the mattress starts squeaking in complaint. You both clamber off and he leans down to arrange a last bit of the blanket artfully.

You strip, already half-hard ~~and dying to get John’s cock into your mouth~~. You turn down your covers (which is a weird thing for you—you can’t remember the last time you got into a made bed) and slip between your sheets, the ones from your childhood, striped red and white.

You watch John climb in beside you and you realize just how odd it is, to be under the covers of this, the haven of your kid self. How many nights did you dream in this bed, play video games in it, jerk off, work on your comics? You wonder—if you could time-hop back ten, twelve years, and show yourself you climbing back into this bed with your decidedly male dom—would kid-Dave believe you?

“You okay?” John pulls you into his arms, presses his lips to your forehead.

“Yeah.”

But you’re still far away, wondering for the millionth time why you couldn’t keep your aspect powers after the game had ended, and, more interestingly, whether you would have chosen to or not, if you could have. Because you can’t just time-hop back to sixth-grade Dave, you can’t even skip to tomorrow. The best you can do is speed up the microwave time on your mac and cheese. Even Jade, once the Badass of Space, could now only make tiny changes to everyday objects, while John could manage to blow out a candle or even ring a wind chime if he really thought about it.

“Do know how many times I was in this bed on Pesterchum with you?”

John breaths a laugh, wrapping a leg around your waist. “I’m glad I can be here now.”

You let him explore your mouth for a few moments before you slip beneath the covers, your lips finding him.

 

When you wake in the morning it is to John’s fingers stroking your hair. The apartment is silent in the early morning glow and you blink bleary-eyed at the ironic dinosaur alarm clock—eight am. No way will there be any activity in the Strider house before ten at least. Usually later.

Your eyes skip up to John’s, and you fucking swoon, his gaze soft on your face, smile tender.

Your heart is totally melting into a pool of uke, and you cannot handle your feels any other way than to bury your face against John’s hip, which is still right in front of your nose. You slept curled around him all night, like the fucking priestess of his dick-temple.

John lets you stay there a moment, before reaching to pull you up to him. You are thrown onto your back (how is he doing that quietly?...that bastard), his hands holding your wrists above your head, thighs pinning you down.

He leans over, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, nipping at the tender skin of your jaw. “I want to hear you beg for me, Dave.”

You whine, canting your hips up into his, and he switches to holding both your wrists with one hand, using his free one to push your hip down against the bed, holding you still. Shit, you are so hard, head thrown back and revelling in the force of his hands, amazing considering how little of his weight is on you.

“Please,” Your voice is half-choke half-whisper, a needy plea for anything. “Please, Sir, please I want you to use me please—”

His hand slips from your hip downward, fingers teasing along the line between your stomach and pubic bone, down between your legs and back again, anywhere but your throbbing dick. Your words garble off into a string of vowels as his cock hovers inches from yours, a small bead of precome slipping from his head onto your shaft.

“Hnnng...”

He shifts then, moving up your body to straddle your shoulders, and you strain your head forward desperately, tucking your chin in an effort to reach his cock with your mouth. He helps, one of his hands behind your neck, and it hurts but oh god he tastes amazing and your eyes are drifting shut until he snaps an order to look at him, voice still barely above a whisper. You obey immediately, and his eyes bore down into yours, completely in control and fuck—no you can’t come yet. You struggle beneath him, thighs squeezing together, and he knows, he fucking _knows_ how close you are, and he thrusts into your mouth just a little deeper, one of his hands slapping you on the cheek, not enough to hurt or even make much of a sound, just enough to warn you.

Abruptly he pulls out of your mouth and climbs off of you, pulling you with him. He settles himself against the wall, and you kneel between his knees, one of your hands directed to his dick. You stroke him eagerly as he pulls your face to his, hand firm on your jaw.

“There’s a good boy.” _Fuck._ “Do you want to come Dave?”

“Please Sir,” you whisper, voice cracking at the end. John’s eyes trail down your naked body, appraising you. You shiver, your cock twitching.

The hand on your jaw slips down to your neck, his fingers squeezing, slowly getting tighter. “You are mine, Dave. All of this. This is mine.” You whine again as the pressure on your airway has you hovering on the edge and your neglected dick is almost painfully hard. John’s lips come down on yours, the softness of his tongue outlining your lips contrasting sharply with his grip on your throat. Which is still getting tighter. You make a strangled noise, so deep into subspace you couldn’t care less about the noise you may or not be making because maybe that was only loud in your pounding head.

John’s hips twitch upward and you can feel the pressure building under your fingers, and you know he’s close by the way his breathing is faltering, and then your lips are moving under his, asking if you can come, _please_ —

“What the fuck??”

John jumps, hand gone from your neck and you cough on the incoming air. He pulls you in tight, your cheek pressed to his chest as he swirls the blanket up and around you both.

Your brother is in the doorway, one hand still on the door, mouth open mid-exclamation. You moan quietly, tucking your face beneath John’s jaw. No, you refuse to deal with this right now. You are still firmly in sub-mode and all the blood from your brain is in your dick and the pain assuages you from your aborted orgasm. No this is not your problem, John will make him go away.

“Why the dick-shitting fuck are you strangling my little bro?”

John curls a protective arm around you under the blanket. “Because he wants me to.” His voice is steady, surprising given you can feel his dick straining against your thigh.

“Which would be just like my sub of a brother, except that he’s not _gay_.” You can hear him knock one of his swords against the door jam. “This had better be consensual, because I swear to fucking _god_ —”

“I assure you it is.” John cuts him off.

Silence. You have a feeling a conversation is going on that you can’t hear.

“Well then.” Bro murmurs. A second later you hear the door click shut.

John ducks his head, nuzzling your temple. “Come on Dave, it’s fine now, I promise. I’m right here okay? You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

You don’t have the breath for explanation, so you nod and let him coax you into a better position, his hand wrapping around both your dick and his, and it hurts at first, but his voice is in your ear, telling you that he loves you and that you were good, so good, and then you are undone, spilling out into his hand. He comes a half-second later, riding out your orgasm with you.

You lick his fingers clean without being asked, moving out of the way so he can lean over the bed and grab his shirt, wiping the both of you off.

John lays back down, pulling you in under the sheets with him. He doesn’t speak, just lets you cling to him while he holds you, fingers tracing up and down your spine while you come back to yourself.


	3. Role Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything gets infinitely more uncomfortable.

You hold Dave until his breathing is back to normal, the glaze in his eyes fading. Even after he seems alright, you stay there, trailing two fingers up and down the ridges in his backbone rhythmically, feeling his chest rise and fall against your body.

You know that you have to ask at some point. What with the lack of real surprise from Bro and that look he threw you… Obviously Dave’s sex life isn’t a complete mystery to his creepy older brother. You wonder if that works both ways. You shudder inwardly a little bit. This is all getting more uncomfortable the more you think about it.

Eventually, Dave heaves a sigh, pushing himself to sitting. Languidly, he slips off the bed, flopping down in the corner to rummage through his backpack.

“Alright, alright, I know.” You sit up as he begins pulling on his underwear, sunglasses already firmly in place. “Yeah, Bro knows I sub. Bro seems to know fucking everything. He’s more fucking omnipotent than Morgan Freeman. He found out one day my senior year of high school when I came home with a bruise on my wrist that I insisted was from something minor, god knows what it was, I’ve had more injury excuses than 00fucking7. And then he started making cracks about how I behaved around any girlfriend I had ever brought over, that I acted like I was whipped and shit… I guess my denial took one second too long to show itself, because that motherfucker ransacked my room the next day when I was at school just to prove his point. He found the photos I had tucked into my _Paradise Lost_ of me licking some girl’s boots. (That’s about as kinky as it got usually—really quite sad, my high school sex life.) So yeah, he actually searched my fucking Milton. He kind of dropped it after that though. I think maybe he was just trying to rub in how nothing escaped him. But I know for a fact that he subs, too. Can’t deepthroat for shit, you can hear him gagging from fucking Saskatchewan. Yeah, _he’_ s gay. I’m supposed to be the straight sub. Which is why he was worried about us being consensual. I think maybe he was concerned that you found out and decided to make me your bitch. Because to him, this never could have been my idea.”

Dave heaves a breath, his rambling stopped abruptly. You continue to kind of ogle him, trying to put together about 10,000 pieces of information you just got chucked at you.

“O...kay…” You murmur. Well this is just going to be an awesome morning, you can tell. No one needs an emotionally untouchable older Strider waving around your sexual dirty laundry before you’ve even had breakfast. You get out of bed and fall to ransacking your duffle for that nice white shirt you brought. Damn, is it ever wrinkled.

Dave kneels behind you and thumps his head down on your shoulder. “Uhg. Look, please just try not to let him get to you. Because gay dom or no, he will put anyone who walks into his house through The Strider Test. Which just entails general fuckery and perhaps a smuppet or six. So don’t let the bastard get to you. And also, I’ve got enough shit on him to placate Regina George for eons. And probably also Freud. So just try to look as unaffected as possible. Aloofness is key.”

Emotion hiding? Oh you’re a pro. You glance over your shoulder and remind Dave of this, smirking appreciatively as his face tinges pink. All bets on Strider-aloofness seem to be off when there are only gay doms around.

Finally you two are dressed, him laughing at your concern over your wrinkled shirt. (“We’re eating with _a_ queen, not _the_ Queen.”) Gingerly, and on the lookout for stray Katanas, you crack open the door, Dave again scoffing at you.

You mentally will yourself to get it the fuck together, before swinging the door open and striding out into the hallway. It’s only a few steps to the living room, and there’s Bro, on the sofa, ruling with an iron fist over the remote control, Lenovo balanced on one knee.

“Morning,” you call nonchalantly to him, and he nods slightly in reply, emotionless shades hiding his eyes.

“Morning, John. I take it you slept well.”

“Mm,” you hum warily in reply. Dave moves from hovering just behind your right shoulder across the room, throwing himself down on the couch, limbs landing everywhere.

Bro looks from him to you. “Make yourself at home, there’s coffee in the pot. Made it just now. Also, if you need anything just let me know. Extra towels, toothpaste, a nice pair of vampire gloves…”

Dave moves to thwap Bro with one arm, but Bro sees it coming, catching Dave’s wrist just before it hits his chest. You shuffle into the kitchen, hoping to god they’re not about to start a full-on strife session. You find the coffee pot on a corner of the counter, it’s ancient plastic warped in places from dishwasher heat.

An eerie silence follows you in from the living room as you find yourself a chipped mug in one of the cabinets. A door down the hall clicks shut.

You turn to locate the spoons, but Bro is literally right there, like you almost fucking smash into him, and he’s a half-head taller than you, arms crossed and pointy shades reflecting the coffee pot’s red LED flicker.

“If you ever hurt my little bro, Dave isn’t going to be the only one with bruises. Don’t you dare wreck him. Because I know how easy it is. And unless you want internal bleeding to be the least of your worries, I would tread lightly.” He leans even closer to you as he speaks, voice low enough to have you shitting your pants.

“I have no intention of hurting him.” At least not permanently. “He is first and foremost Dave, not my sub. And I would die before I damaged him.” You stare back at him, your mouth set hard, willing yourself not to crack under the pressure of his invisible gaze.

The eerie silence lasts only a moment before Bro nods, shades flashing. “I should hope so. You take damn good care of my little bro.” Before you can run for your life, he claps his hand down on your shoulder, voice no longer lowered to near-growl. “On the other hand, I hope you two are happy. It’s really about time he found someone capable of giving him what he needs. I have seen too many people walk all over Dave. So thank you.”

You cannot possibly keep up with anything this morning. “Uh, you’re welcome?” Your voice half-cracks at the end, and Bro laughs slightly before disappearing back into the living room.

Holy hell. The Striders sure are an intense bunch.

 

Dave finds you and Bro watching _Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom_ , and settles on the floor against the couch between you both. The three of you watch in silence as the majestic buffalo makes its way across unending plains of dead grass for god knows how long, until Dave snaps upright and jumps up to dig around in a drawer on the other side of the room. When he procures Super Smash Brothers, you and Bro both hiss “ _yesssss_ ” and in a matter of minutes your Marth is getting the shit kicked out of him by Samus and Princess Peach.

You never really learned how to play this game properly, relying instead on your spastic button-mashing to lead you to victory. Unfortunately, this tactic does not always work in your favor. Especially when two brothers, clearly practiced in digitally kicking each other’s assses, have mastered complex patterns of attacks. You are forced again and again to watch them battle to the death after your player is long gone. Equally matched, Dave and Bro both sit stock still as they play, while your method of gaming involves much more epilepsy.

You are watching one such duel now, head flicking like you are at a tennis match between the television and the unmoving blondes. Dave emerges victorious this time, Princess Peach roundhousing Samus offscreen. Bro remains motionless, A-buttoning rapidly through the end screens to begin the next battle as he mutters, “Nice one, princess.”

“Ooh! Let’s do Halberd,” you insist, and Bro indulges you, flicking his cursor over to the stage. Five minutes later and you have already taken serious damage, backed against a ledge by your beloved Peach, wincing as she comes toward you—

The front door bangs open, and you drop your controller in surprise. Your head, and the heads of both the Strider boys snap sideways to take in the figure in the doorway. And then you almost choke on your own spit.

Leather stiletto boots reach all the way up to her mid-thigh, her high-low hemline skirt swirling around her legs in the draft from the hallway. A black corset overlaid with blue lace hugs her hips and waist tightly, her breasts swelling just beneath the rigid fabric before it gives way to the pale skin of her collarbone, almost hidden by the cascade of jet black hair that falls around her face and down her back. Her hair probably has more mass than your entire body, its crazy curls puffing out in all directions like a cloud hovering just behind her.

The azure curl of her lips deepens into a full-blown smirk as you (and presumably the Striders behind you) gape at the black and blue woman on the threshold.

Slowly the noise of the television comes back to you, and you are suddenly aware of your mouth actually hanging open. You snap it shut and Vriska laughs, her eyes directed not at you, but at Bro.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Strider. I thought I’d come over and celebrate the occasion with you, although I don’t remember you asking permission to have company over.” She raises her chin slightly, asking for an explanation.

You blanch. What the ever-loving fuck was going on here?

Glancing over your shoulder at Dave, you find his glasses slipping down his nose, eyes stretched wide. Beside you on the couch, Bro is sitting impossibly still, eyebrows raised. While his glasses are still in place, you can tell his eyes are even wider than his brother’s, the horror and embarrassment actually registering on his features.

Coming to his senses, he lowers his head in supplication, fingers loosening their grip on his wiimote. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, voice rough.

“I’m sure you are. And I’m sure you will be much more sorry later. But it is a holiday, so let’s just put that off for now, hmm?” She sweeps into the room, throwing the door closed behind her. She comes to stand in the living room proper, boots planted firmly on the carpet, her hands on her hips expectantly.

Bro, head still lowered, gestures first to Dave and then you. “So, I’m sure you remember my little bro Dave, and his now, uh, John. I was just—”

“Gay.”

You look at Dave, glasses firmly back in place, who has turned to stare at his brother. “You were gay, the last time I checked. So infinitely gay I was wondering when the phallic shrines were going to begin to rise in the backyard.”

“Dave, that’s enough.” You retort unthinkingly, and when you glance up Vriska is staring down at you, eyes sparkling menacingly.

“Oh, you too? Brilliant, then this is going to go much more smoothly. The Strider boys really seem to need someone with a firm hand, no?” She turns to Dave then, smiling wider. “Yes I fixed that. Gay or not, I don’t think the elder Strider here is going to be going anywhere soon. Besides, he seems content to gag on my strap-on.”

 _You_ just about gag. She crosses to stand in front of Bro on the couch, and he rises from his place immediately, letting her take his seat while he settles on the floor at her feet. She crosses her long legs and laces her fingers on her knee, perfectly composed. “So!” she says brightly, “It is very nice to see you again Dave, after all this time, and you as well John.” She turns to address Dave on the floor. “I know that your brother over here can be very impersonal, but I hope you know that he has admitted to me on several occasions how very much he cares for you and your wellbeing.”

Dave and Bro both go slightly scarlet, and thank god Vriska has Bro in check because you can see his jaw tightening with embarrassment and anger.

“Now then, Strider why don’t you call up the Chinese place to put the order in, I’m sure it’s going to take a little while.” Bro is on his feet in an instant, a muttered ‘“yes ma’am” escaping him.

It is a very awkward silence that follows before Vriska starts asking you about your major in film. It’s easy to lose yourself in the descriptions of your second love, and you are off rambling in an instant about the subtle beauties of cinema that so often go unappreciated. Mid-explaination, Dave inches closer to you on the floor to lean his head against your knee, and you stroke his hair gently with your thumb as you continue your diatribe about the overuse of ironic lens flare.

Bro makes his way back from the kitchen as Vriska starts asking you questions, and the four of you slip into uneasy conversation about J. J. Abrams.

When the doorbell rings, Vriska rises fluidly from the sofa to answer it, stance solid in the doorway as she pulls the door open. The young delivery man looks much like you did earlier, his features slipping from his bored expression into one of awed (and slightly fearful) confusion. Vriska reaches forward to take the paper bag from him, reaching into her cleavage to retrieve a compact roll of cash. This she replaces in his loose grasp, smiling as she tells him to keep the change. She shuts the door before he can produce a response.

Bro follows her stride to the dining room table in the alcove beside the kitchen, while you and Dave gather the necessary plates, glasses and a bottle of orange soda from the fridge (where there seems to be mostly orange soda).

While unorthodox, you have to admit the idea of Chinese for Thanksgiving is a brilliant one as you heap your plate with sesame chicken. Vriska settles at the head of the table, with Dave and Bro on either side of her, while you take the seat beside Dave. Vriska only allows a few minutes of silence before she is questioning you again, chopsticks perfectly poised above her plate.

“So John, how did you and Dave get involved?”

You just about choke again, and Dave and Bro both pause in their eating to look at you expectantly.

“Uh. You know, just… the normal way?” Brief memories of you slamming Dave into the wall flash through your head. The three of them stare at you a moment longer before resuming their meals, Vriska’s eyes narrowing as she nods.

“I see. Well I’m sure it was an easier start for you than it was for us. What a night that was…”

Dave clears his throat before she can continue. “So Bro. I wanted to tell you that that one scholarship I have is rolling over to next year. They’ve decided based on my GPA to allow me to continue to receive the funding.”

“Sweet.” Bro quips in reply.

What follows is possibly the longest meal of your life. Vriska continues to plague you with embarrassingly intrusive questions, most of them about your relationship with Dave, while you and he alternate fending her off with mundane topics like your favorite teachers and the descriptions of the play you saw with Jade. This continues until well after the last of the fried rice is gone, leaving you with nothing to distract yourself with.

It’s during a lull in the discussion about the imminent demise of the television in the face of internet streaming sites that Vriska pipes up, gaze directed at her empty plate. “Strider, I want you under the table.”

Hesitating only a moment, Bro pushes his chair back and slips down to the floor, making you self-consciously shift your feet. Vriska looks down past her lap at where Bro presumably is, and smiles somewhat menacingly. “Good boy,” she croons.

“Aaaaaand I’m going to show John the neighborhood,” Dave announces just a little too loudly, pushing his chair back from the table with a screech and collecting both his plate and yours.

“Oh awesome yeah.” You jump up to follow him, grabbing a few of the takeout containers and dumping them in the kitchen trash.

Dave darts into his room to grab the car keys, and just as you two are leaving you hear Vriska from the other room speak.  “It _is_ Thanksgiving Dirk. Why don’t you show me what you are thankful for?”

You pull a face of horror at Dave, who reflects one back at you, and before you can hear any more, the two of you make good your escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update. College has reared her time-consuming head.


	4. Land of Nostalgia and Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think the title says it all.

You and Dave race down the stairs of the apartment building, you beating him to the bottom by just a second, flinging the heavy metal door open on complaining hinges. You shudder exaggeratedly as you walk through the parking lot towards the Jeep. “Bluhh. That was terrifying. I thought she was going to eat me alive.”

“You and me both. At least she thinks of _you_ as an equal. Me, not so much. Notice how she barely asked me anything? Yeah.” He throws you a solemn look before breaking out into laughter, the cold autumn sunlight reflecting off his aviators. “But that was so gross! About as many people want to know about Bro’s sex life as are interested in the inner machinations of the earthworm’s digestive system.”

You throw him a disapproving look, but he refuses to apologize for the shitty simile.

Dave clambers into the driver’s seat of the Jeep, starting up the engine with a roar as you slide in beside him. You roll the windows down to let the crisp air pass right through one side of the car and out the other, making Dave’s and your hair dance in the November sunlight.

He pulls out of the apartment complex and begins to wind through rural streets, past houses with lawns hidden beneath heaping piles of leaves, the first snow not yet fallen. Hardly anyone is out on the sidewalks and the roads are mostly deserted, everyone at home and probably enjoying somewhat more normal Thanksgivings. Dave points out a few houses, indistinguishable from the rest, where some of his childhood friends lived, their names the last remnants of elementary school.

Past two cul-de-sacs and countless stop signs, you pass his middle school, the brick façade starkly looming over the barren tree branches.

“I had my first real girlfriend at that school,” Dave remarks, cycling through topics in a stream of consciousness as he winds toward the shops of downtown. “Her name was Ellie, and she had double ear-piercings and wore knitted beanies and we made out a lot and that was our entire relationship.” He glances over at you, a smile playing across his lips. The sunlight touches the edges of his eyelashes behind his shades.

Dave holds the gear shift, your fingers laced with his as he gives you a brief tour of the downtown, pointing out what used to be his favorite record shop and was now a fro-yo place. It’s nice to just listen to him talk. Dave doesn’t often let himself go with words, at least not unironic ones anyway. His voice is quiet, almost as if he’s recounting the past to himself, and you let your thumb skim over the bones in his hand because you just love him so much you can’t not.

The end of the next street brings Dave out of his nostalgia, and the two of you laugh together on your way back to Bro’s about your mutual admittance of Vriska’s hotness.

“I know right?! I thought I was the only one who saw it for a while, back when we first met all of them. I was still gay as the day is long back then, but I had this silly girl-crush thing on her, I just thought she was the coolest thing ever.”

“Hey hey, I would like to challenge that statement.” Dave flashes his smile at you, and you recant.

“I said _thought_. Past-tense. No one could out-cool you Mr. Strider.”

Dave nods in affirmation. “Yes, thank you.” He stops at another stop sign, and you reach over to pull his lips to yours, his hands clutching at your hair as his mouth gives under yours, forgetting everything until the car behind you honks, Dave jumping away from you and lurching the car forward, hands tight on the steering wheel.

 

When you slink back into the apartment, Bro and Vriska are nowhere to be found, and you have the uneasy feeling of not knowing whether they are cooped up in Bro’s room and being really sneaky, or if they aren’t home at all. Just on the safe side, you let Dave click shut his bedroom door slowly before you pounce, your hands all over his ribs and his waist, his fingers clutching your shirt needily. There’s something incredibly sexy about the way Dave is trying to stay quiet, his labored breath hitching in and out of his open mouth whenever you free it from your lips.

The sweep of skin from his ear to his collar bone glows in the soft light from the window, and you are overcome with the urge to stake your claim to the expanse of pale flesh, to prove to everyone who looks that Dave's beauty is owned. You press your mouth to his neck and bite him, feeling the give of the skin under your teeth, applying pressure slowly until Dave gasps, at which you pull back and tenderly lave your tongue over the imprint you just made.

At this point Dave is scrambling frantically to his knees to try to get to work on the button of your jeans, but you follow him down, mouth magnetized back to his, pressing him back until he is laying flat out, with you poised over him on your hands and knees while you trace your tongue along the neckline of this t-shirt.

You soon grow tired of not having access to more of Dave, reaching behind and around him to pull off the offending garment. Dave moans, back arched off the floor as you lick down his sternum. While your mouth is busy, you reach up to remove his sunglasses, his form so perfectly memorized you have no trouble landing your fingers on the arms of his shades without looking. Carefully, you toss them up onto the bed.

Distracted, Dave doesn’t notice where you are headed, even when you are stroking the hollow of his hip with your tongue, and it isn’t until you kiss his hardon through his jeans that he goes rigid, hands fluttering to your shoulders.

“Dave?” You snap your head to look up at him, concern in your voice.

“Hnng?”

“Everything alright love?”

“Yesss. Please, no, everything is fine, _please_ please please—”

He pushes his hips up against you, and you oblige him, licking the length of him through the denim before you make short work of his button and fly with your teeth, a soft swear of incredulity directed at you from Dave.

His jeans and briefs flung across the room, you can finally admire all of him, gaze flicking  to his face as you lick a stripe up the inside of his thigh. Dave moans softly again, dick twitching.

When your mouth finally makes it to his cock he whimpers with the suppression of a scream, hips shuddering off the carpet. You let your tongue lay flat against his shaft as you pull him in as deeply as you can. Dave cries out softly, unable to help himself, and you grip his hips with tight fingers as he pushes up against you, begging with his whole body.

Your eyes stray from his face over to the small object just under the edge of the bed, the tiny bottle within arms reach. Still sucking, you nonchalantly remove one of your hands from Dave and stretch out, your fingers snatching it up.

You cannot believe your luck. You are one smooth motherfucker.

You slick down two of your fingers one-handedly (also highly impressive, you think) with the bottle of lube, and while you continue to thrust Dave against the back of your throat, one of your fingers comes to rest against his entrance, applying just enough pressure to make him gasp in surprise.

Gently, you begin to work in the first joint your finger. When you begin working in the second you pop softly off his head to address Dave, your voice low.

“I want to hear you.”

Before you can even get your mouth back on him he is off, a long string of swears and obscenities falling from his mouth, every other word a plea. Just after beginning to add your second finger, you sit up slightly, mouth leaving him, one of your hands moving under his shoulder to cradle him. You fuck him gently, relaxing the muscles as much as you can before adding yet another finger, praising him when he takes it so well.

“There’s my Dave. Good boy.” He replies with a strangled sound.

Once you are confident he is ready, you sit back, removing your fingers. Swaying, he pushes himself up, crawling over to you when you pat your thigh to beckon him.

It takes a bit of configuration, but you manage to get him in your lap while you sit sort of cross-legged, his legs wrapping around behind you. He lifts up slightly to let your cock find him, and you press your forehead to his as he sinks down on you slowly, stilling once your entire length is buried inside of him.

You trail the backs of your fingers along his upper arm. “Okay?” you ask him, kissing the side of his neck tenderly.

“Mmhm,” he answers, lips pressed together and lashes fluttering. You find his lips again as you rock back and then forward again slowly, shallowly thrusting into him. Dave’s hands fly to your shoulders and his head falls back, a small moan separating his lips.

“Talk to me love,” you urge him, hands on his waist, his head returning to your shoulder. “I want you to tell me what you want.”

“Harder, _please_ ,” he says into your neck.

Your lips curve up. “Do what harder, Dave?”

“Please, Sir, fuck me harder please! John, goddmn—”

You jerk backwards and then immediately forwards, repeating the motion over and over, thrusting into him roughly with strong strokes, your arm wrapping around behind him as he goes slightly limp, clinging to you. His ankles cross behind your back to pull himself closer, seeking friction from the press of your bodies.

The bottle of lube is still by your leg, and without pausing in your motions, you again grasp it and pour a little bit of it between you and Dave, leaning back to slick his cock and where it is rubbing up against you. Tossing the bottle away, you press back into him again, Dave moaning out your name when the motion of your bodies puts much needed pressure on him.

Dave’s cock is ten thousand degrees against you, equal heat squeezing along your length and you let yourself get lost in the heady warm scent of him, blonde hair plastered to your chest, ragged breath in your ear.

You grab his jaw in one of your hands, bringing his face up to yours so you can watch him. His eyes drag open, the crimson nearly obscured by the dilation of his pupils. His entire face reads desperation, lips open and flushed as he whimpers. You know he loves when you hold him so possessively, moving his body around at your whim to examine or make use of him.

You stop your thrusting for a moment, ordering him off your lap with a sharp “Up.” He obeys instantly, dizzily clambering from your lap to the floor. You position him on his hands and knees, moving his joints like clay until he is just how you want him, back bowed with his head in his arms on the floor, his perfect ass in the air.

You kneel behind him, resting your dick along the crack of his ass. Roughly, you grab one side of said glorious ass, squeezing just enough to bring the blood beneath his skin. You lean over him, your lips pressed to his shoulder blade.

“This is mine.” He moans at your assertion, pushing back against you just slightly. You release your hold of him before smacking him in the same location, just enough to make him shudder against you.

You pour a little more of the lube over yourself before sliding back into him, hands gripping his hips. He relaxes as you pull him back and forth with every thrust, fucking him roughly. Just a slight change of angle and you’ve found his prostate; Dave cries out a swear, rising on his knees, back arched, until his shoulders are warm against your chest. You push him back down, one hand tangling into his hair to turn his head sideways so you can watch him. Eyes closed and mouth open, he whines your name again, rolling his hips once sharply. You can’t help the sound that escapes you, and your moaning has him shaking, repeating the motion again and then again until you can barely keep your head above the surge, the warmth and beauty of Dave tearing at your self-control until finally you give in, pressing your forehead against his back as you are overwhelmed, gasping open-mouthed at your release.

You can feel Dave’s muscles clenching as he comes with you, his whole body tensed. You and he come down from the high together, bodies relaxing in unison. Before your collapse can pin him to the floor, you roll sideways slightly, bringing you both down on your sides, you spooning him.

It is a few moments before either one of you moves. You let your thumb skim over his arm. You can’t not.

You can practically feel him unwinding in your arms, and he shifts a little bit, making you aware of just how sticky the both of you are. He sighs and you press your nose to his neck.

You had every intention of hauling him up off the floor and bringing him into a nice warm shower with you. That is, until you wake up in a pool of the muted sunlight of evening as it slips across the carpet and languidly over you and Dave, still curled up on the floor. For a moment you watch the strands of his hair stir in your breath.

He breathes deeply, and you can see by the edges of his lashes when his eyes flutter open.

Your voice gravelly from sleep, you whisper into the back of his neck. “Hey.”  

“Mmm?”

“Where’s the air mattress?”


End file.
